Chapter 150: A Monster Among Hungry Wolves (7)
Chapter 150: A Monster Among Hungry Wolves (7)
A noble had been sent flying, transformed into a corpse, but the melee was so chaotically crowded that almost no one noticed.
"Lord?"
Only the subordinates who had followed the noble were bewildered. Their master, who had been leading from the front, had vanished, leaving only his horse standing there alone.
What the bewildered subordinates found was a knight mounted on an enormous warhorse.
Having joined the fray to aid the central army, Eugene smiled bitterly at the gazes that converged upon him the moment he arrived.
"It's the lord himself! Attack! I shall reward whoever captures him!"
A group of cavalry, led by a knight of Sicily, came charging at Eugene. They had recognized at a glance his extraordinary equipment and aura.
"Being large makes it easy to survey the battlefield and give orders to the rear, but this is a nuisance. I stand out far too much to the enemy."
Hearing his master's grumbling, Might lightly pawed at the ground with a forehoof.
Crack.
A fist-sized stone was shattered into pieces by that single, casual kick.
"Alright, alright. Sorry, sorry. Complaining that I'm giving up one thing after gaining nine would be sheer ingratitude, wouldn't it?"
The apologetic Eugene gripped his flail in his right hand. The warm atmosphere from moments before vanished, and a chilling killing intent rippled outward.
"What is that weapon?"
"Is that a warhorse? Or a monster? What in the world is he riding?"
The cavalry who had followed the knight could only properly see Eugene after passing through the battlefield's dust. And they sensed that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
For both the warhorse and the knight radiated an overwhelmingly thick aura of death.
"Receive the spear of Sicil——"
Before the leading knight could thrust his spear, a black bolt of lightning descended from the sky.
Clang!
That day, for the first time in their lives, those cavalrymen witnessed a human head being compressed.
The bundle of black maces crushed the top of the helmet and pulverized the skull contained within.
But the sides of the helmet remained untouched. A grotesque corpse was created, its head caved in only at the center, like a volcanic crater.
"S-Sir Knight?"
The cavalrymen behind their now-silent knight were utterly dazed. Eugene swung his flail horizontally.
One man who tried to block had his left hand shattered along with his shield. He could not even scream despite the horrific pain, for the bundle of maces, rebounding from the impact, had crushed his jawbone.
Every time Eugene swung his flail, shields shattered and screams rose. The ricocheting mace bundle struck randomly at faces, shoulders, flanks, and horses' heads.
As the tribal knights closed in on Eugene's flanks and thrust their spears, the enemy was slaughtered one-sidedly.
"Halt! Charging straight through to the center all at once is too risky. We'll wear them down gradually."
At the vanguard, Eugene tore open the surface of every enemy group he met, creating cracks and fissures.
"My brother's nemesis! I shall kill you without fail—— ack!"
Among the enemies being swept away, a knight who had stealthily closed in fell from his horse, clutching at the arrow that had pierced his throat.
It was the work of Homi, the only one guarding Eugene's side. Hanging from Sandy's flank, she loosed her arrow, then used the strength of her thighs to spring back up into the saddle.
'She's incredible. That's riding skill even nomads couldn't match.'
Rex observed the sight from behind and clicked his tongue in admiration.
A large flail, by its nature, required ample space. A careless swing could easily ensnare allies.
Yet Homi could guard Eugene directly at his side. Her perfect sense of balance and her tail meant she was unconstrained by posture, whether riding or shooting.
Whoooosh!
Above her head, Homi heard the sound of the air being torn apart, and she drew her bowstring ceaselessly. Crossbowmen who had been aiming at Eugene collapsed one after another, arrows buried in their vitals.
"Beautiful."
A tribal warrior murmured involuntarily.
A male-female pair that perfectly complemented each other at range and in melee. The way the two childhood friends rampaged across the battlefield looked like a waltz.
"Smash every last one of their heads!"
The heavy cavalry, wielding their own cavalry flails, shattered the cracks Eugene had created.
Though not quite knights, their excellent equipment, abundant experience, and training that was diligent beyond that of ordinary mounted troops allowed them to display ferocious power.
"Taste Meyer's Fist!"
They called the cavalry flails specially commissioned from the Hammer Brotherhood "Meyer's Fist."
The human cavalry were not exceptional like the dwarves or dark elves. But they had the pride of fighting with melee weapons right at Eugene's side.
Thus, the cavalry flail held a special meaning. It was a symbol of solidarity, of wielding the same type of weapon as their liege lord.
"It's embarrassing every time I hear it. How about we give it a different name?"
Eugene simply wanted to dissuade them out of bashfulness. But a countermeasure for just such a moment had been prepared.
"Varda-nim was extremely fond of it."
"She said it showed a proper attitude of serving one's lord. She praised it, saying that henceforth, Meyer's name would be spread far and wide on the battlefield."
"...Look at these bastards, huh?"
With shameless faces, his subordinates had sneakily used Varda as a shield.
"There, another group is coming."
A new band of enemy knights charged in from the flank.
Instantly, the horse archers' arrows flew, and the heavy cavalry hurled their throwing darts, the plumbata.
"Gah!"
"Ack!"
More than half of the knights and squires had been cut down before even clashing, and the remainder pulled on their reins with panicked expressions.
"You fools! What are you doing stopping here?!"
The knights who had kept charging found themselves suddenly isolated and shouted in disbelief.
Eugene charged at them, swinging his flail, and they were crushed outright.
* * *
After a long while of striking and pulling back repeatedly, eating away at the enemy starting from the left flank, the enemy forces in the area were scattered in utter disarray and began to flee.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
"Running from the enemy line, are you out of your mind? You'll end up dangling from the gallows!"
"You moron! The bastards who would order us strung up are all lying dead over there! If you're so unhappy, then you block them yourself!"
Screams of agony and retreat orders soaked in terror rang out from all directions.
"That's enough! Annihilating the enemy is not our objective!"
Eugene raised his flail high and ordered a halt to the pursuit, but a few of his subordinates did not return.
It was not insubordination; in the noise and excitement of the battlefield, their heads had grown too heated and they simply had not heard him properly.
At that, Might raised a forehoof. A mysterious energy gathered around that hoof.
BOOM!
The hoof struck the earth, and with a thunderous roar, a shockwave spread out, palpable even amidst the chaos of the battlefield.
Everyone in the area shuddered as if struck by a sudden chill, the way one does right after urinating. A wave of magic had shaken their very souls.
"Huh?!"
"F-Fall back! We've pulled too far ahead!"
The effect was certain, and the subordinates who had nearly surged ahead hastily returned.
"I've told you time and again, always keep an eye on your surroundings even while you're fighting. If you go out alone and get surrounded, you'll die a dog's death."
"We apologize, Castle Lord."
After clapping the returning men on their shoulders, Eugene let out a sigh.
'I can't let my guard down for a single moment. This is more exhausting than hunting monsters.'
From the Battle of Codon Castle to the pirate subjugation at Lasta Monastery and now this pitched battle, large-scale warfare against fellow humans always kept his nerves on a razor's edge.
Of course, monsters were undeniably more dangerous and ferocious. But battle against them was simplicity itself. Every human nearby was an ally, and all he had to do was put down the creatures.
But when humans fought each other?
Were they winning or losing?
If things were unfavorable, which area needed reinforcement?
Where had the subordinate who had been beside him moments ago disappeared to?
Discerning anything during combat was incredibly difficult.
Fortunately, Eugene had one ace in the hole for such times.
"Homi."
At Eugene's call, Homi, who was beside him, leaped from Sandy. She stepped on Might's rump and climbed up onto Eugene's shoulder.
"...Ugh!"
A Sicilian cavalryman, fighting desperately, lost his life in an absurd fashion. He had been distracted by a single flower blooming in the heart of the battlefield and was cut down.
Her eyes snapped wide.
Homi's eyes swept across the battlefield. Her pupils, wreathed in the soul of the white-headed eagle like lenses, repeatedly dilated and contracted.
"You can step on my head. The higher up you are, even by a handspan, the better, right?"
"What if I take my shoes off later!"
Today's signature line was a polite refusal— or rather, a postponement.
Having spotted something, Homi lightly leaped down and landed on Sandy's back. Then, using military hand signals, she indicated a specific location.
"The enemy's main force is over there! We're going to stab them in the flank!"
At Eugene's command, everyone raised a battle cry and steeled their fighting spirit.
"Fweeeet!"
At Homi's magically charged whistle, the warhorses that had been following from the rear lined up neatly beside their riders.
"It's amazing every time I see it."
"How on earth does she control horses like that?"
The tribal warriors, too, commanded numerous horses when moving pastures. But that was merely utilizing the horses' herding instinct to follow the lead of the higher-ranking animals in one direction.
The technique of making horses follow without confusion amidst the chaos of a battlefield like this was something they had never even heard of, let alone seen.
"Odd-numbered squads, remount! Even-numbered squads, perimeter watch!"
The tribal knights and heavy cavalry swapped mounts in turn.
The horses exhausted from repeated charges moved to the rear, and a fresh cavalry force was readied once more.
"Ready darts!"
The tribal knights and heavy cavalry gripped their plumbata.
It was the newly adopted standard issue ranged weapon for Eugene's melee cavalry. Shorter than a javelin, it was easy to stow on a saddle, and its fins gave it decent accuracy.
"Let's go! Follow me!"
Having ground down the Sicilian forces that had been threatening the left flank of the central army, Eugene's personal guard began to charge toward the heart of the battle.
* * *
"The banner of the Holy War Knight Order is right there! Charge with all your might, as if your lives depend on it!"
Count Sicily, his eyes bloodshot, spurred on his knights and vassals.
This was a world where trial by combat was believed to be the judgment of God. Winning this war and seizing that banner would make the case perfect.
If the count could wave the captured banner of the Holy War Knight Order and proclaim, 'This is proof that God acknowledges my rights as a nobleman!' — what then?
The prestige and legitimacy of the Apostolic Council would inevitably suffer a devastating blow.
It was an era ruled more by emotion than reason, and more by symbolism than emotion. If a person of the count's stature won a great victory and brandished a banner of such high symbolism, his claim would carry immense weight.
"Just a little more effort! I will reward ten silver coins for every enemy felled! For each paladin, two gold coins!"
Count Sicily threw money around without a thought for the consequences, driving his troops onward. And it had a real effect.
After all, the nobles risked their lives for the glory of victory and the count's favor, while the soldiers and mercenaries did so for the chance at a fortune.
It was then that Eugene's reinforcements arrived.
"Count Sicily is over there!"
The battle they had been steering to their advantage had been disrupted by interlopers, who were now in turn targeting their liege lord.
"You serfs from the peninsula!"
"I'll show you the might of Sicily!"
The count's knights, delighted that their prey had increased while the situation was favorable, charged fiercely.
And then, every time a black storm howled from Eugene's fingertips, some part of their bodies burst or shattered, and they tumbled from their mounts.
"I am Ashram, knight of Sicily! State your name!"
"Eugene Meyer."
This was the very Ashram who had beheaded the deputy commander of the Holy War Knight Order, then roared and raised that severed head to boost the army's morale.
In his duel against Eugene, he lost his weapon in the first exchange, and in the second, his cheek was pulverized.
"Sir Ashram!"
His squire screamed as he watched Ashram's head, which had seemed invincible, rotate two and a half full turns.
The eyes of the master, who had always taught him with solemn dignity, stared at him with a vacant focus before slowly tilting to the side.
"You monstrous fiend! I, Mikel of Roman, shall take you on!"
Mikel spurred his horse forward, swinging his axe. He was a man who had once led bandits in plundering and defiling women near the monastery.
- Lay down your weapons and repent before the name of God. Then your lives will be spared.
- Aye! This old man will send you to the gods you love so much.
Mikel had slaughtered the warrior monks who came to capture him. Afterwards, he stormed that very monastery, committed massacre and plunder, and even set it ablaze.
For those atrocities, he had been declared wanted by the former king of Roman and had fled all the way to Sicily.
His skill alone was tremendous, so he had joined the battle on the condition of a pardon from the count, and today he was the one who had spilled the most blood of the holy knights onto the earth.
"You insufferable slaves of the gods!"
Spitting curses, Mikel came charging back, yet he never managed to swing his axe at Eugene even once.
It was because a volley of mace strikes smashed his horse's head to pieces. As the horse collapsed, the momentum of his charge sent Mikel hurtling toward Eugene.
Gape.
Might's mouth gaped open like a crocodile's. As if he would not stand idly by while a filthy lump of meat flew at his master.
"H-hrk!"
Flying through the air, Mikel screamed as he watched Might's mouth rapidly fill his vision. Dozens of thumb-sized, razor-sharp teeth welcomed him and bit down.
Crunch.
Crunch.
"Aaaagh!"
After chewing Mikel a few times, Might spat him out with a ptooey! and immediately reared up his forelegs.
Crunch!
He trampled and shattered the groaning Mikel's chest and face.
"Shoot! I said shoot!"
At that sight, the crossbowmen trembled and fired their bolts.
But every bolt glanced off Eugene's armor and shield, and the horse armor encasing Might.
Even bolts that struck areas the horse armor did not cover were blocked by Might's steel-like hide and muscle.
At that despairing spectacle, some of the crossbowmen even dropped their crossbows. Others could not properly load their bolts due to their trembling fingers.
With the last remaining knights nearby being unilaterally slaughtered as well, no more horsemen remained.
"Monster!"
"O God! Please..."
"A death knight! A death knight has appeared!"
Reactions poured upon Eugene, ranging from the standard cries of monster or calling upon God to the more novel treatment of regarding him as an undead monster.
And it did not end with mere shouting filled with terror.
"What nonsense are you speaking? A death knight, you say?"
Count Sicily was dumbfounded by the report that a wicked being, the likes of which might be seen once in a century, had appeared.
However, the messenger, trembling in fear, did not look like someone who had simply heard nonsense and was faithfully relaying it.
'Though he did seem to have seen something truly terrible.'
While Count Sicily debated whether to send reinforcements or not, Eugene finally arrived.
Having swept through the left wing with irresistible force, he had now reached the fierce battlefield where both sides' center armies clashed. And his entrance alone was far from ordinary.
Might was demonstrating exactly why he was called the World Charger.
Rumble-rumble-rumble!
He crashed directly into the flank of the Sicilian knights who had exposed their sides while attacking the holy knights.
BOOM!
CRASH!
Warhorses, struck in their flanks, fell away with mournful screams, and the knights riding them were hurled in every direction.
"Wha, what in the world is..."
The count's jaw dropped.
Caught in the sudden situation, the Sicilian knights were also utterly stunned and could not respond properly.
Because their flank had been pierced in a straight line while they were fighting the holy knights, their allies got in the way and prevented them from properly counterattacking.
And Eugene exploited that fact brilliantly.
With his shield strapped to his arm, he held the flail in both hands and swung it in a 360-degree rotation, battering everything around him indiscriminately.
Everywhere, knights' skulls were crushed as they toppled over, and riderless horses rampaged.
"Castle Lord! You have charged too far ahead!"
"Please restrain yourself! Our hearts are pounding wildly!"
The tribal knights and heavy cavalry who had joined him threw their plumbata, then raised their weapons and charged fiercely.
In just one charge, the formation of the Sicilian center began to collapse, and the count felt as if his very soul might flee his body.
"Filthy dogs of the Apostolic Council! What have you slaves of God summoned?!"
"Wh-what are you talking about? We are innocent!"
As the Sicilian knights, locked in a bloody struggle, cried out in indignation, the holy knights shouted back, equally indignant.
"Shoot!"
Regardless, Eugene gave the order for the mounted archers in the rear line to fire.
During the push to this point, they had thoroughly crushed every enemy along their path. Thanks to that, even though they were now in the heart of the battlefield, they could draw their bowstrings leisurely without the need for shields.
"Your Excellency, the Count! It's dangerous!"
When the arrow fire reached near Count Sicily, his vassals threw their bodies in the way to block it.
"Damnation! We retreat! Sound the retreat horns!"
The count, now wearing the most aggrieved expression on this battlefield, turned his horse and fled.
* * *
"Sir Knight! Shall we smash through to the enemy's right wing as well?"
Rex asked, brimming with excitement.
A strike force that had punched a horizontal tunnel through the enemy lines, from the left wing to the center and now toward the right wing. He had never heard of such a thing in all of history, east or west.
Even for Rex, a pragmatist utterly devoid of ambition for glory, that epic tale of valor was exceedingly tempting right now.
"Calm down. Glory doesn't put food on the table, does it? Besides, we don't even have spare horses left to switch to."
"Sir Knight. Are you truly a knight? Those are absolutely not the words of a knight."
Rex let out a hollow laugh and released the tension in his muscles. Because Eugene's words were not wrong.
"The battle is already decided. The left wing was no match from the start, and the center has collapsed with its commander now retreating. Isn't that right, Homi?"
Standing on Eugene's shoulder, Homi signaled her agreement by bobbing her toes up and down.
"There's a saying that even if a rich man falls into ruin, his family lasts three more generations. Even if they are losing the battle, Immortals are still Immortals. If we meddle, we'll bleed too."
"If we leave them be, we'll still win since the tide has turned, but won't the damage to our right wing be severe?"
"Is that my problem? I only need to look after my own people."
"I have fallen for you once again, Sir Knight."
Rex laughed and rode his horse closer to Eugene. His attitude suggested he was about to go in for a hug.
"You're giving me goosebumps, so cut that out."
Swish.
Standing on one stilt-like leg atop Eugene's shoulder, Homi stretched out her long leg and blocked Rex's approach.
"Oh dear. If I get any closer, it seems I'll be kicked away."
Homi, who had been surveying the battlefield, whistled and then sent a hand signal. It was the news that the Immortals were retreating.
"Did they realize they've been isolated all alone on the field?"
"Even if they are strong, they are infantry. Wouldn't they have to judge the timing of retreat with even greater precision?"
With their superior armor and two-handed sword techniques, the Immortals displayed tremendous might in chaotic melee. However, since they fought on foot, their mobility was severely limited. In moments like now, when abandoned and fleeing with their backs turned, they were more vulnerable than any knight order.
"Call in all the mounted archers waiting on the left wing as well!"
At Eugene's command, the tribal warriors blew their horn trumpets in unison. At the same time, they prepared for the final attack.
Eugene also put away his flail and took out his bow. Because from now on, what they would be doing was not battle, but hunting.
* * *
"May the blessings of the gods be with you, Sir!"
Cain, Grand Master of the Holy War Knight Order, spread his arms wide to welcome Eugene.
"What comes must also go. I am not sure if what I have done is truly worth receiving three major cities."
"Had you not joined us, it would have been a crusade destined to fail from the start. You are the one who let us gain something when we might have lost everything; how could we begrudge anything?"
Bearing clear signs of a desperate and bitter struggle, Kain was so deeply moved that he even made a remark that seemed somewhat dangerous.
But it was not an incorrect statement, either. The troops and strategies Count Sicily had prepared were far more solid than expected.
'What would have happened if we had gone according to the original plan? If we had gathered numerous mercenary companies and invaded with an army of about five thousand?'
Cain shook his head. Without some unexpected turn, they would certainly have lost.
The two commanders strode across the battlefield, now filled with countless prisoners and corpses.
"The right wing suffered far too severely."
"Immortals are Immortals. There is a reason they are so renowned even though they are knights who do not ride horses."
The Immortal infantry knight order does not train in horsemanship, devoting itself solely and desperately to physical conditioning and two-handed swordsmanship.
Since riding training must begin from childhood, its accessibility is low for those outside the nobility. However, the Immortals had no such barrier, making it easy to recruit new members.
By concentrating the costs that would have been spent on horses into their infantry, they could also provide excellent armor and operate in greater numbers. As a result, they possessed far more members than other knight orders.
The right wing, where three hundred Immortals had rampaged, was truly a scene of utter chaos and carnage.
Arms and legs severed by two-handed swords lay scattered everywhere.
There were men whose abdomens had been split halfway open, trying to gather up their spilling entrails, and others whose bodies had been severed in two.
"Uuuu..."
"Save... save me."
"Bite this, brother. You can surely survive."
War priests clung to those who still had a chance, treating their wounds.
"O soldier who has fulfilled his duty. Return now to the bosom of the gods in peace..."
"Kgh!"
For the critically wounded with no hope, the holy knights, after gaining consent, bestowed the mercy of the sword.
"Why do all Immortals wield two-handed swords?"
Eugene observed the corpses of Immortals lying dead everywhere. There were none who bore shields or one-handed swords.
"Because, composed entirely as infantry, they require a means to stand against cavalry."
Kain stared at the Immortals with an expression of utter disgust. They were a traditional rival knight order that his predecessors had fought against countless times.
"Do you see this hilt here?"
The Immortals' two-handed swords had hilts constructed in two tiers, much like a Zweihander.
"So when fighting cavalry, you grip both sets of hilts and thrust it like a spear?"
"Precisely. The Eastern Empire's lamellar armor is famous for its sturdiness, so it can easily stop the weapons of ordinary conscripts."
As Kain demonstrated, it certainly appeared threatening even against cavalry. If hundreds of Immortals extremely trained in that technique did so, no ordinary cavalry force would dare to challenge them.
The Immortals in the front rank would die from the initial impact, but the moment the cavalry's charging power dissipated, a meat grinder would clearly begin.
Unlike spear units composed of conscripts or mercenaries, this was a tactic possible only because they were an elite capable of withstanding the terror of a cavalry charge.
"Please, accept this banner."
Kain presented the banner of the Immortal Knight Order to Eugene.
A banner was the crystallization of the honor belonging to that force. In particular, the one captured in this battle was embroidered with the Caliph's golden-thread seal, making its significance even greater.
"We have gained one more decoration to display to the guests of the Wandering Castle."
As Eugene held the Immortal banner and waved it about, Rex was also pleased. He had become as invested in decorating the Wandering Castle lobby as Varda was.
"We couldn't exactly flay the Immortals for their skins, so this worked out well."
"..."
"Sir Cain. It is a nomad joke."
Eugene hastily made excuses to Kain, whose face had turned appalled.
"For now, let us rest the troops today and discuss further measures tomorrow."
Although Count Sicily had been missed, his main force was annihilated. For all intents and purposes, the war was about eighty percent finished.
"Ah, and with a bit of luck, it seems we might even be able to capture the count."
"Pardon?"
At Eugene's words, Kain asked again with a dumbfounded face.
"They say when a man's luck sours once, everything continues to go wrong, and that is precisely his predicament. Of all the escape routes, the one the count happened to choose..."
Looking in the direction where the count had fled with only a handful of men, Eugene's subordinates snickered.
That place was the direction where the Wandering Castle had descended.
Stationed within the castle were the garrison guards doubling as reserves, as well as hundreds of warhorses.
The dwarves invited as craftsmen and the tribal handlers who managed the warhorses were also former warriors. They were men who could return to active duty at any time if needed.
End
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